Chapter 61 - The Mausoleum of Moonshadow (3)

Several hours earlier, red eyes gleamed near the mausoleum’s ceiling. Their baleful gaze kept watch over the gray forest below—or, more precisely, followed the elves’ trail.

Dull white horrors raced through the dense sea of trees, clambering over one another.

'Disgusting.'

High overhead, Maphel’tan grimaced.

The white mass of elves resembled a swarm of termites. Moving blindly toward a single purpose, they were no different from insects. They were beside themselves with excitement at having acquired Raguel, the finest fertilizer for the World Tree’s seed.

They must be desperate to lay Raguel on the altar. They probably had no attention to spare for other uninvited guests.

That suited Maphel’tan perfectly. All he had to do was follow them at his leisure, and he would arrive at the World Tree’s hidden cradle. Bringing Raguel had proved a good decision in more ways than one.

The corners of his mouth lifted as he slowly descended. Below, the termite swarm was converging on a single point before an enormous rock face.

"That must be the entrance."

Just as Zal’karin said, the elves began disappearing one by one into a small cave at the base of the rock face. Maphel’tan nodded.

"It probably leads to the seed’s cradle."

What looked like tree trunks coiled tightly around the rock face. They were bundles of roots extending from the World Tree.

The World Tree’s roots spread like a web throughout the First Zone, supporting the mausoleum and supplying the bare minimum of nourishment to this dead wasteland. The place that benefited most stood before Maphel’tan. Within that rock face, inside the cave, surely lay the elves’ sanctuary.

Maphel’tan touched down. The gathered fiends all turned to look at him, and Zal’karin immediately shouted.

"Lower your damned eyes! How dare you! Do you have any idea who stands before you?"

"Enough. Stay quiet."

"B-but...!"

Maphel’tan raised an arm to stop him, then addressed the elves.

"Well? Do you like your gift?"

One elf stepped forward from the gray throng—a shriveled horror with wariness written all over its face.

"What business does a horned spirit have in this land?"

"I believe I asked first."

The elf glanced behind it. Raguel was being dragged into the cave in demonic hands.

"By gift, you mean that one. The Watcher’s bloodline."

Maphel’tan nodded.

"Put him to good use. No thanks necessary."

"... Why?"

"Why what?"

"What are you scheming, handing him over to us?"

"Nothing much. I want to help fulfill your long-cherished wish."

The elf’s brow furrowed deeply.

"Our wish? What do you know of it?"

"The World Tree’s rebirth. More precisely, you intend to resurrect the Seventh Apostle of the End."

A commotion spread among the elves. Maphel’tan had struck at the heart of the matter.

They intended to germinate the World Tree’s seed and bring a new World Tree into being. That tree would inherit the position of Seventh Apostle.

Alquines, Seventh Apostle of the End. The World Tree, the elves’ god and mother, was one of the Archdemons that sang of the End. The moon’s interdiction had reduced her from an ancient god to an Apostle.

The same was true of every Apostle except Maphel’tan. Five hundred years ago, after winning the Holy War, Marziel had cast all twelve divine thrones other than his own down to earth.

In the end, the twelve gods had been tainted and corrupted, becoming Apostles who clamored for humanity’s destruction. This was also why only twelve Apostles could exist in this world.

There were thirteen forgotten ancient races in total, and among them, witches believed in no god. Thus, the gods worshipped by the remaining twelve races were the twelve Apostles.

That left one question. Why was Maphel’tan an Apostle when he was not an ancient god? It remained a puzzle he could not solve.

The elf spoke.

"Who are you to claim you would help fulfill our dearest wish?"

Maphel’tan answered calmly.

"I am the thirteenth end, Maphel’tan, the Throne of Deception and Chaos."

Silence fell over the mausoleum. No one spoke. It was as though time had stopped.

Then the uproar came all at once. A few elves began to snicker, and soon all of them burst into laughter.

"The thirteenth end? Never in my life have I heard of such a being!"

"Young Demon, there is no thirteenth Apostle in this world!"

"They say those aboveground have forgotten history. So it was true!"

"You dare impersonate an Apostle merely because you possess a single horn?"

"Arrogance beyond measure!"

"Go back where you came from!"

Insults and jeers rained down from every direction. Maphel’tan remained unperturbed.

'They haven’t read so much as a line of the Book of Doom, apparently.'

There was probably no Book of Doom in the mausoleum at all. If there were, they could not possibly be ignorant of the thirteenth end.

Zal’karin shrieked as though in a fit.

"O great End! You need only command me! I shall burn every one of these insolent wretches!"

Tiny flames escaped his mouth with each syllable. The thin tongues of fire shot into the air, then quickly dispersed.

Maphel’tan was a little surprised.

'Could he always do that?'

He seemed to have grown stronger from continually absorbing the Abyss’s demonic energy. Zal’karin himself looked rather taken aback.

"W-what is this...?"

The elves burst into derisive laughter.

"What little trick was that?"

"A petty spirit—an imp! Perhaps we should gobble him up!"

"How many centuries has it been since we laughed like this?"

Amid the snickering, only one elf remained stiff-faced: the one who had spoken to Maphel’tan on the others’ behalf. It suddenly let out a bizarre shriek.

SKREEEEEE!

Everyone fell silent at once. The elf approached Maphel’tan and spoke.

"... I do not believe you. A thirteenth Apostle cannot exist. Yet I cannot deny that you bear a scent much like theirs."

Maphel’tan replied expressionlessly.

"And your point is?"

"I wish to speak with you. Wait here a while. I will return once the ritual is complete."

"I’ll come into the cave with you and wait there."

This was why he had revealed himself to the elves in the first place. The elf answered firmly.

"None but us may enter the cradle."

As expected, that was not an option. Maphel’tan shrugged.

"Well, a pity, but it can’t be helped."

He had tried the easy way, and it had failed. There was another way, though it was rather more troublesome.

"Stay right here. I shall return shortly."

The elf immediately turned away, and most of the others followed.

Only a single enormous sentry remained to watch Maphel’tan. It was a rather meager force to guard the sanctuary’s entrance, but that posed no problem.

The cave was a labyrinth inhabited by countless demonic beasts. Even if an outsider subdued the gatekeeper and entered, they could never reach the sanctuary.

Under ordinary circumstances, that was true. But there would always be unforeseen developments. After five hundred years of isolation, the elves had forgotten to guard against such contingencies.

* * *

Maphel’tan sat cross-legged and closed his eyes to control the Nightmare Spirit.

A fairy that ruled the unconscious, the Nightmare Spirit became active when its target fell asleep or lost reason. Until a moment ago, the one he had attached to Raguel had lain dormant.

Now that had changed. The Nightmare Spirit began to move. Raguel had fallen into a panic. It was time to put the spirit to work.

Through the Nightmare Spirit, Maphel’tan interfered with Raguel’s mind. His proficiency with the power had improved considerably from repeated experiments on Baron Grian.

He faced Raguel within the mindscape, intending to provoke the boy as much as possible.

'I have to push him.'

He dragged the boy’s sore spots into the open and scratched at them relentlessly. The results began to look quite satisfactory.

Maphel’tan promptly rose and walked toward the cave entrance. The enormous gray horror spoke in a menacing voice.

"One more step, and I will snap off that horn."

Maphel’tan scowled.

"You have been speaking with utter irreverence for some time now."

He began playing the Apostle.

The horror held its club upright and slammed its end into the ground with a thud.

"Horned spirit or not, you are merely a whelp. You dare not speak to me of irreverence."

Its jade-green eyes blazed with hostility. Maphel’tan clicked his tongue.

"Insignificant creature. Even an Archdemon who has existed for a thousand years knelt before me. Do you imagine you will be any different?"

He was referring to Kaiaze, Scribe of the Book of Doom.

The horror bared its teeth like a wild beast.

"Then make me kneel."

At that instant, a chilling voice issued from Maphel’tan’s mouth.

"Crawl on all fours like a beast. Crawl, and lead me to the seed’s cradle."

Pitch-black mist surged from his body. Dense demonic energy began to envelop the area, and utter darkness swallowed their surroundings.

The horror looked somewhat flustered.

"What is this?"

Red eyes flickered in the darkness. Maphel’tan’s command transformed into the ancient demonic tongue.

『 The lowly creature crawls on all fours to the cradle (Kar’mesh zul’gar Velyaz ul thorgal). 』

Words of Command were being inscribed.

The horror dropped heavily to one knee, bewilderment spreading across its face.

"What...!"

Resistance was impossible. Its upper body slammed into the ground in an instant. Its eyes wavered as it looked up at Maphel’tan.

"... Wh-who are you?"

Maphel’tan spoke slowly.

"Did I not tell you? I am the thirteenth end."

Zal’karin puffed himself up with boundless pride.

"Truly, you are the sovereign of all Demons!"

* * *

Deep underground lay a lush green forest. There were no gray thickets or putrid rivers here.

The forest had forgotten the despair of the past and still held its vibrant melody. Instead of the stench of death, the fresh scent of trees filled the air. Clear river water flowed amid the dense vegetation.

It was all thanks to the World Tree. Its roots had pierced the ground and spread vitality through the soil.

Long, trailing vines embraced the World Tree’s roots as though holding memories of days gone by, while fireflies drifted beneath them, tracing the splendor of the past. Now and then, dew dripped from blades of grass, singing of life.

This was the elves’ last sanctuary. Ironically, the only beings out of place in this forest were the elves themselves.

They climbed over one another, reaching toward the cave ceiling. A small sun shone there—the World Tree’s seed, which showered vitality upon the sanctuary.

"O Mother of the Earth, swallow the moon’s gaze, and grant us the birth of tranquil shade."

Atop the tower they had built from their own bodies, one elf reached toward the seed. A boy was clutched in its grasp. Raguel was being offered as fertilizer for the seed.

"Take root once more, and claim the children of the moon."

The roots encasing the seed slowly opened. They swayed like tentacles, then began to bind Raguel.

"Mother is pleased!"

"The day of vengeance shall come!"

Raguel’s body drew ever closer to the seed. The boy was defenseless, and so was the seed. All the roots that guarded it had opened.

The instant Raguel touched the seed, something abruptly whistled through the air. A pitch-black silhouette streaked across the open space. A chilling voice echoed high inside the cave.

"Yes, now! Bite into it!"

A black fairy flicked off Raguel’s warding mask. The boy lurched forward and opened his mouth wide.

Then—

CRUNCH!

He chewed up the shining seed and swallowed it in a single bite.

The boy’s heart pounded. Blue blood was being transfused into veins that carried red.

* * *

"Well, High Elf? How does it feel to be reborn?"

The first figure the blind boy saw upon gaining his sight was grotesque indeed. A being that embodied every kind of evil in the world stood right before him.

Its eyes were as red as the juice wrung from human beings, and its skin was so dark that it resembled a swamp made of malice. The demonic energy shrouding its body fluttered like a banner symbolizing all evil.

That hideous being was Maphel’tan. There were plenty of other horrors underground, but Raguel scarcely saw them. Maphel’tan’s presence was too immense.

Raguel went rigid. Maphel’tan frowned.

"Hey, tell me how it—"

Before he could finish, Raguel’s head abruptly drooped. The shock had been so great that he had fainted.

Maphel’tan let out a breath of disbelief.

'That actually hurts a little.'

As he sighed, a horrific noise shook the underground cavern. Every elf began howling at once, their eyes steeped in immeasurable hatred.

SKREEEEEE!

Countless demonic hands reached for Maphel’tan. He took flight, his wings filling the air.

From far overhead, the Apostle looked down upon the fiends.

"Children of the earth, howl to your hearts’ content. I shall now conduct the World Tree’s funeral."